


The Dangers of Date Night

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dates, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, look its just something short and fluffy okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: Ducking his head, Clint blushed, the tips of his ears turning dark red.  “Sorry, I just… I can’t seem to help it,” he said.  “I thought I’d spotted aliens twice on the three blocks here.”  He pointed his chopsticks at Phil in a vaguely threatening manner.  “Don’t say it.  It’s only paranoia if it didn’t keep happening.”He had a point.  Over the last four months, Date Night had been foiled by actual sightseeing aliens who accidentally caused an intergalactic incident, two different groups of assassins, a wannabe supervillian, Tony Stark and his propensity for exploding things, and werewolves.The life of a SHIELD agent was not easy.Phil just wants to go on Date Night with his husband.  No crisis or missions or danger.  Is that too much to ask for?





	The Dangers of Date Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avidreader6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avidreader6/gifts).



> Not betaed.
> 
> From the prompt: Hey, Chaos if you’re still up for a prompt how about date night? It’s been awhile since they had a date night not be interrupted and now they’re on edge just waiting for whatever goes wrong this time.
> 
> A happy belated birthday to Dani!

“Are you ready to head out, babe?”

Phil blinked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Clint’s words jolting him out of his daze.  He frowned.  He probably only had a few minutes before Clint got curious about why Phil was taking so long and came down the hall to investigate.

Sighing, Phil looked down at the dark blue shirt he’d tucked into his jeans and held up another tie.  Maybe he should go with the one with the subtle stripes?

“Babe?” Clint called, and on cue, his voice was moving closer.

“In here,” Phil called back, resigned.

Clint’s footsteps padded into the bathroom, and Phil caught a glimpse of his husband in the mirror.  Clint’s dark jeans were new, as evident by the lack of worn patches and rips, but the grey henley was an old favourite.  He’d already pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the leather cuff and rings he rarely indulged in wearing around SHIELD.  Phil swallowed, simply staring at Clint via the mirror.  Even after three years of marriage, and many years before that, Clint could still knock the breath straight out of Phil’s lungs.

“A _tie_ , Phil?” Clint said, his eyes dancing as he leaned against the doorframe.  “Really?”

Phil returned to scowling at his own reflection.  “I just wanted to look nice,” he said, unable to stop the trace of petulance in his voice.  “It’s been four months since our last uninterrupted Date Night.   _Four months_ , Clint.”

Clint smiled, his gaze softening.  “Yeah, I remember,” he said, “but does that really rate a tie?”

Phil sighed again.  Clint had Opinions about ties, much like Jasper had about food.  “Perhaps not, but it would give me a handy weapon to strangle the next junior agent who interrupts Date Night.”

Clint chuckled.  “Okay.  Hang on,” he said, ducking back out of the bathroom.

Tossing down the tie, Phil resisted the need to check his phone.  Strangling a junior agent might have been an empty threat, but the frustration behind it was very real.  Phil had signed his life over to SHIELD fully aware that it meant no white picket fence in his future and probably very little social life.  It was one of the reasons Phil had been so reluctant to act on his initial attraction to Clint, even when it blossomed into _feelings_.  Even after one too many close brushes with death had prompted Phil to stop living with regrets, it had taken him and Clint a lot of effort to make their relationship work through crazy SHIELD missions, personal issues, aliens and Clint’s habits with the coffee pot.

One of the ways they’d compromised was Date Night -- one night wherever they could, just them and nothing fancy.  And, okay, the tie probably counted as _fancy_ , at least to Clint, but dammit.  Phil missed spending time with his husband in an explosion free zone.

“Okay,” Clint said, stepping back into the bathroom.  He handed Phil a white t-shirt and a soft black sweater.  “Lose the shirt.  And take out your contacts before they give you a headache.”

Phil smiled.  “Thanks, Clint.”

“Don’t thank me,” Clint replied.  “Just wear that brown leather jacket that I bought you.”   _The one you never wear_ was heavily implied.

“Yeah, okay,” Phil agreed.

When Clint made no move to leave, Phil arched an eyebrow, but didn’t stop unbuttoning his shirt.  “Careful,” he warned as Clint smirked at him.  “If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make dinner.”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah,” he said playfully.  “Hurry up.  I got a craving for noodles.”

Shaking his head, Phil pulled on his t-shirt.  “Go grab your jacket, then.  I’ll be done in five minutes.”

“You’d better,” Clint shot back, disappearing out of the bathroom again.

Phil quickly shrugged on the sweater and exchanged his contacts for a pair of black, thick-framed glasses.  He also took a moment to hang up the shirt and ties before giving into temptation and checking his phone.  There were no missed calls, no emails and no new messages since he’d left his office, and none of the special SHIELD-issued apps had new alerts.  Things were fine.  Quiet.

Letting out a breath, Phil pocketed his phone and went to meet his husband by the door.

<*>

Dinner was pleasant and familiar.  At Clint’s request, they’d headed to their favourite Chinese hole-in-the-wall so Clint could satisfy his craving for noodles, but somehow, something was… off.  Nothing big, but there was a tension hovering under the surface that Phil just couldn’t shake.  His fingers twitched towards his phone, but it hadn’t rung.  Whatever crises were happening in the world, they didn’t need Phil’s input.

He scanned the restaurant again, but nothing seemed obviously out of place.  It was a small, family-run business owned by Henry Chang, and Phil and Clint had been visiting for enough years to know its rhythms.  One of the waitresses was unsure of what she was doing and kept rattling plates she was carrying, but that was only because Henry had only given his neice the job last week to help with her college tuition.  Jenna was a budding theoretical physicist, not a double-agent.

Glancing at Clint, Phil watched him absently push noodles around his plate.  Clint’s gaze was locked on the back corner, where the busboy, Rául, was trying not to obviously stare at Jenna and failing miserably.

Part of Phil’s brain was gibbering about how _normal_ this all was.   _So freakishly normal_.  Normal didn’t happen to Phil and Clint on a regular basis, even on Date Night, and Phil was half convinced that meant aliens or shape-shifters were about to invade.  Again.

“Clint?” Phil asked.

“Hmm?” Clint replied.  He blinked, turning back to Phil.  “Sorry, did you say something?”

Phil frowned.  “Are you okay?”

Ducking his head, Clint blushed, the tips of his ears turning dark red.  “Sorry, I just… I can’t seem to help it,” he said.  “I thought I’d spotted aliens _twice_ on the three blocks here.”  He pointed his chopsticks at Phil in a vaguely threatening manner.  “Don’t say it.  It’s only paranoia if it _didn’t keep happening_.”

He had a point.  Over the last four months, Date Night had been foiled by actual sightseeing aliens who accidentally caused an intergalactic incident, two different groups of assassins, a wannabe supervillian, Tony Stark and his propensity for exploding things, and _werewolves_.

The life of a SHIELD agent was not easy.

Phil reached across the table and laced the fingers of his free hand through Clint’s.  “I know,” he said.  “It makes it really hard to relax, doesn’t it?”

Clint smiled dryly.  “Maria is going to give us so much shit for this,” he predicted.  “Particularly if we don’t make it to that gelato place that Jasper was raving about.”

Phil snorted.  “Please, like either of them do any better.  I had a text from Maria last night, checking in from the _ladies room_ on her date with Sharon.”

Shaking his head, Clint chuckled.  “Shit, we’re a really messed up bunch, aren’t we?  It makes you wonder how we survived our entire honeymoon without checking in with the office.”

“I’m pretty sure it was the copious amounts of sex,” Phil said.

Their honeymoon had been paradise, though.  Just him and Clint in a luxury cabin by the beach.  Hell, Phil had even turned his phone completely off and not worried about it.  Clint was right -- that was a skill Phil needed to work on regaining.

“Well, _hey_ ,” Clint said with a truly ludacris wiggle of his eyebrows.  “That’s something we haven’t tried for a while.”

Phil arched an eyebrow, because, _no_ , sex was not something that was missing from their relationship.

Clint rolled his eyes.  “I meant the copious amounts part,” he said.  “Until we’re too tired to worry.”

Chuckling, Phil shook his head.  “Somehow, I don’t think that reason will fly as an official reason for a vacation request.”

Clint started to reply, only to snap his gaze up as a new couple entered the restaurant.  The action was reminiscent of a hundred different missions, and Phil tensed automatically.  Clint let out a breath and relaxed again, shooting Phil a sheepish glance.  “Sorry,” he said.

Then the kitchen doors banged open and Phil tensed all over again.  “Okay, that’s it,” he said, putting down his chopsticks.  He raised both of his eyebrows at Clint.  “What do you say to just ordering a few of our favourites to go, grabbing a box of chocolates from that place on the corner, and headed back to our apartment?  Where we can barricade the front door and leave our phones in the kitchen?”

“I would say that I fucking love you, Phil Coulson,” Clint said, his voice low and fervent.  “And also: can we go now?”

Phil laughed.  “ _Please_ ,” he replied.

<*>

Henry was happy to make them a new order to take away, and twenty minutes later, Phil was locked the apartment door behind them with no small amount of relief.  True to his word, Phil left his phone in the kitchen to remove the urge to continually check it before changing into pajama pants.  When he made it back to the living room, Clint was surrounded by blankets and pillows, their stash of food covering the coffee table.

“So,” Clint said, not looking over from where he was flicking through channels on the TV.  “Are we marathoning _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ or _Star Wars_?”

Phil swallowed, a wave of _love_ hitting him so hard he almost stumbled.  Clint’s pajama pants were purple with tiny pizza slices on them, and his hair was already sticking up on one side, all of his careful styling gone.  He was so wonderfully, adorably _perfect_.

“Babe?” Clint said, his blue eyes concerned when he glanced over.

“I thought we had other plans?” Phil asked roughly, although he had to clear his throat to do it.

“We do?” Clint echoed, his brow furrowing.

“Mmm hmm,” Phil hummed in reply.

He headed straight for the couch, ignoring the food, and climbed up so he could throw one leg over Clint’s lap to straddle it.  Clint’s eyes darkened even as his expression cleared.  “Oh,” he said, tossing the remote onto the couch, where it would no doubt be lost among the cushions.  “ _Those_ plans.”

“Unless you have an objection?” Phil said mildly, smiling as Clint’s hand settled on his hips.

“No, I think I’m good,” Clint replied.

Phil’s smile widened.  Score one for Date Night.

 

End.


End file.
